


don't want this feeling to go away

by boldlygoingnowherefast



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boldlygoingnowherefast/pseuds/boldlygoingnowherefast
Summary: Elrond spends an evening in friendly conversation with Bofur. Neither of them expects it to go anywhere.
Relationships: Bofur/Elrond Peredhel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	don't want this feeling to go away

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most random, weirdest ship imaginable, and from the fucking Hobbit movies no less. If you're here, godspeed. 
> 
> Also, [here's a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5qrOus6WTSjuJ1JyV1VCKU?si=odJiA8k5R0iLF7UNjAQTWg) for this ship because I have brainrot.

Elrond took a deep breath and centered himself, trying to shed the frustration that filled him from the whole ordeal with Thorin Oakenshield and his map. Gandalf was as elusive and secretive as ever, but this time he thought he could hide a whole plot to reopen the Lonely Mountain and reclaim the treasure inside. Unwise wasn’t a strong enough word for what it was, and to make matters worse, Oakenshield acted like those who had the wellbeing of the entirety of Middle Earth in mind were overstepping their bounds by warning him off his quest.

No, Elrond had never liked dealing with dwarves, and he didn’t even have Thranduil’s centuries-long rivalry with Thrór and his kin.

Elrond paused by the balcony overlooking the fountains, crystalline blue in the moonlight, and tried to prepare himself for the talking-to Saruman would give him for even entertaining the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Elrond disliked dealing with dwarves, but he may have equally disliked Saruman’s company.

The banister was chilled under Elrond’s hand as he leaned against it, and he stared up into the moonlight, bidding the stars to give him some answer that didn’t result in a fight.

“Rough night?”

Elrond jerked his head from the sky to stare down at his new companion—it was one of Oakenshield’s company, the one with the crooked hat and the curled mustache.

“Simply a contemplative one, Master Dwarf,” Elrond replied, recovering from his startle quickly.

“Name’s Bofur,” the dwarf replied. He was only just tall enough to look over the side of the balcony, average height for a dwarf. “You don’t need to ‘Master Dwarf’ me. No titles necessary for the simple likes of me.”

Elrond allowed himself a small smile at that. “That I can do, Bofur. I’m sure you heard the introductions earlier, but you can call me Elrond.”

Bofur grinned under his curled mustache. “Charmed.”

Bofur didn’t seem to have any of the bristling contempt the other dwarves harbored for elves, which Elrond found interesting considering his companions. Bofur didn’t have the bearing of nobility, and his clothing was of the working class. It was likely he didn’t have the time or energy for age-old grudges.

“I must admit I’m curious,” Elrond said, looking back out across the starlit courtyard, “why you are here instead of with your company.”

“I’ve been with them for weeks and will be with them for months more. I needed a breather.”

Elrond hummed. “There are many places in Imladris to catch your breath.”

Bofur titled his head, pointed ends of his hat catching the moonlight. “You aren’t how I imagined you’d be, to be perfectly honest.”

“And what did you imagine me to be?”

“Well, I’ve always been taught elves are arrogant and untouchable. Unconcerned about anyone who’s not an elf. You don’t seem to be like that.”

“Much like dwarves exist all across Middle Earth, elves do as well. We may have traits in common, but all elves do not share the same temperament and ideals. There are elves who would match your description well, and many others who would not. Rivendell has always considered itself a safe harbor for anyone in Middle Earth who may need it.”

“Makes sense to me,” Bofur replied with a shrug. “I always figured it was that old grudge speaking, anyway. I don’t much hold to that.”

“You are not like your companions,” Elrond replied.

“Well, they’ve got their reasons. I prefer to talk to people before making too many judgments. That is, if I have the time.”

“A wise way to live.”

“I don’t know about wise, but it suits me just fine.”

It was early yet, and Elrond was reluctant to face the decisions required of him in the morning. This conversation was the most civil and interesting thing to happen to him in a while, and Elrond was always eager to grow his knowledge. This jolly dwarf seemed like as easy a way as any. “I was just about to find a glass of wine. Would you care to join me?”

Bofur perked up. “Really?”

“Unless you’d rather return to your friends.”

Bofur shook his head. “No, no. I’ll drink with them tomorrow and the next day, and the one after that as well. I’ll try whatever fancy wine you’re offering tonight.”

Elrond smiled at his new companion and led him back through the open pavilions and towards his favorite place to sit and have a glass of wine in the evenings, a small alcove with two light wooden chairs and a few shelves laden with books.

Bofur had to struggle up into the tall elven chair, but once he was sitting there, he seemed unbothered by the fact that his feet didn’t touch the floor. He accepted the cup of wine that Elrond handed him, eyes bright as he gazed around the little sitting area.

“You elves know a thing about décor,” he commented with a smile. “Not quite stonework and masonry, but it’s lovely nonetheless.”

Elrond tipped his head. “Thank you.” 

Bofur took a sip of his drink. “And this is good wine.”

“It’s no dwarven ale,” Elrond replied with a smile.

Bofur chuckled. “That it is not, but it’s like apples and oranges, right?”

“Indeed.”

Elrond learned that Bofur was from the Blue Mountains and worked as a toymaker and a miner, and after Elrond assured him that he was aware of their intention to enter the mountain, Bofur admitted that though he was eager to join Thorin on this adventure, he didn’t have the same ties to Erebor that many of the others did. His family hailed from the Blue Mountains. 

When Bofur talked about his brother and his cousin, Elrond spoke of his daughter, who was currently spending some time in Lothlórien. Bofur brightened at his mention of Arwen, and Elrond spent some time speaking about her excellence in riding, her love of reading, and her caring heart. 

“I don’t have children, but if I did, I’d be proud to see they had grown up like her.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Elrond replied. “I can’t take all the credit, but I certainly am proud of her.”

Bofur was a good conversation partner, and a few times he even managed to get a full laugh out of Elrond, which seemed to please him.

Elrond did not start his night planning to be charmed by a dwarf, let alone a toymaker from the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, but Elrond was not unmovable, and Bofur _was_ charming. Surprisingly so.

Bofur was interrupted in the middle of his story about his brother accidentally swindling a minor dwarf lord out of his best pair of boots by a large yawn. “Oh dear, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Perhaps you should get some sleep,” Elrond said. “I’m sure you have a lot of traveling ahead of you.”

“You’re probably right.” He set his empty cup on the table next to the chair and hopped down from the chair, his thick dwarven boots clunking down onto the tiles. “Thanks for entertaining me. I’ve had a nice time.”

Elrond also stood. “I have as well,” he replied with a smile.

“You have a nice rest of your night,” Bofur said with a tip of his hat, and then he was heading back through the pavilions towards where the rest of his company was staying.

Elrond stared after him, feeling both like the night had both gone exactly how it should have gone and also careened wildly out of his control.

The next morning, after a tense conversation with Saruman and a cagey Gandalf, Elrond found the dwarves had already departed, leaving only one shattered table to show they had been there at all. Elrond stared at the place they had slept the night before, thinking about a curled mustache and a friendly grin.

He was just turning to leave when he spotted it, placed on the banister nearest the far exit of the pavilion. It was a small carved wooden horse, smooth to the touch when Elrond picked it up. Under it was a piece of parchment.

The parchment was labeled with his name in thick, blocky handwriting, and when Elrond unfolded it, there was a short note.

_Lord Elrond,_

_Thanks for the good wine and great company! Maybe someday we can do it again._

_Yours,_

_Bofur_

Elrond stared down at the cheerful letter and the excellently carved horse and felt something like warmth crawling through his chest.

Elrond set that night aside in his mind, but only because he had to. A darkness was growing in Middle Earth, and Elrond couldn’t afford to ignore it. A great battle happened at the Lonely Mountain, a fight for the very life of Middle Earth, and though the side of the light prevailed, it was not a good sign for what was to come. Elrond spared a thought for the small troop of dwarves that had risked their lives in the quest for Erebor—one dwarf in particular—but there was not much he could do.

Elrond learned from Gandalf that Durin’s line had fallen and that Dáin was to be the King Under the Mountain. For such lives to be extinguished all at once was tragic, but Erebor had prevailed and was under the control of the dwarves once more.

A few months after what they were calling the Battle of the Five Armies, Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf arrived at the edge of Rivendell. Bilbo Baggins was subdued and carrying a great sorrow on his shoulders, and Gandalf was weary. They made an odd and lonely pair, traveling the entirety of Middle Earth alone together, one with the pain of lost love and the other with centuries of toil.

Elrond welcomed them into his halls, hoping to help alleviate some of their burdens.

It worked, in the way that plentiful drink and song and merriment often did, and the next day, Bilbo approached him.

“My Lord Elrond,” he greeted, bowing before the spot where Elrond was seated.

“Rise, Master Baggins. No need to bow.”

Bilbo straightened with an uncomfortable look on his face. “I have something for you, actually.” He proffered an envelope of thick cardstock, and Elrond took it with a curious frown on his face.

“A letter?”

Bilbo nodded. “Um. Well, you should look for yourself. I’m not sure _why_ he—well, it’s none of my business, certainly.”

Bilbo shuffled away before Elrond could ask anything else, and he was left with this unmarked envelope. Elrond pried it open gently and pulled the parchment free.

It was addressed to him, in a very familiar blocky scrawl.

_Elrond,_

_It has been some time! I’m sure you’ve heard that Erebor is back in the hands of the dwarves once more, though not without sorrow and hardship. D_ _áin will become the King Under the Mountain, and as for my brother and me, well, perhaps we’ll stay to see Erebor returned to its former glory, and then we’ll find ourselves another adventure._

_I’ll let you know if I ever make my way back to Rivendell, and we’ll share another glass of wine. That night is one point of sanity and stability in what proved itself to be a whirlwind of a journey._

_How are things in your neck of the woods? The Hidden Valley is a bit off our radar here in Erebor, and it’s always nice to hear from a friend._

_Yours,_

_Bofur_

Elrond refolded the letter and set it down on the table in front of him, remembering that curled mustache and bright gaze fondly. How sweet of him to think of Elrond after everything that had happened. Elrond would have to write him back, if only to show he appreciated the sentiment.

It took him a few days to come up with a proper reply, but he made sure to set aside some time to write it once he was prepared.

_My friend Bofur,_

_Things in Rivendell are as they ever are. You would likely not find much changed from when you were here a year ago. Perhaps the trees are more barren with the settling of winter, but here in the Hidden Valley, the seasons are simply a way to mark the march of time, for it is never cold enough to be uncomfortable._

_Though I was informed of the Mountain’s return to the dwarves, it is nice to hear it from a member of the Company. Even if you do find adventure elsewhere, I hope you find a little something of what you’re looking for in Erebor. You deserve it._

_You are always welcome in Rivendell should you choose to visit. We could use some bright faces in our halls._

_Yours,_

_Elrond_

Elrond addressed the envelope and gave the letter to Lindir to post how he saw fit. Sometimes, a bird was best when other times a messenger on foot was better. Lindir would know what to do.

And that was how Elrond found himself exchanging letters with a dwarf and enjoying it more than he was willing to admit. He knew that Lindir suspected something every time he handed a letter to Elrond from the Lonely Mountain, but Elrond had started posting his own letters himself, and Lindir had never asked.

Bofur was a cheerful pen-pal, and Elrond found that he also valued his opinion when it came to the smaller things. Bofur was steadfast and kind, and Elrond could count on him to have something good to say about almost everything.

Elrond found that he _wanted_ Bofur to visit Rivendell, if only to be able to see him again, to have a conversation face-to-face.

Before Elrond knew it, two years had passed since they had begun trading letters. Two years after Bilbo and Gandalf had passed through Rivendell on their way back to the Shire, Elrond got the letter he had been hoping to receive for quite some time.

_Elrond,_

_Good news! A small handful of the original Company and I have decided we are going to pay our hobbit a visit. That means a stop in Rivendell, and I am sure I will be able to convince them that a few days there will do us good._

_Look for me in a few weeks! I’m counting on that wine._

_Bofur_

Elrond couldn’t help the smile that curved his mouth and wasn’t even swayed from his joy by Lindir’s curious look.

The time passed quickly, as if often did for those as long-lived as elves. Elrond was drafting a plan to shift guard rotations to offer more protection from the direction of the Misty Mountains when one of his guards approached him.

“A group of dwarves has entered Rivendell, my Lord Elrond. They say they are from Erebor and are requesting your presence.”

Elrond stood. “Thank you.”

Elrond found the dwarves on the entrance steps, a lot calmer than they had been the first time they found themselves in this exact spot. There were only five of them—Bofur, the dwarf with white hair Elrond recalled as Balin, and three others whose names Elrond never learned.

They were also less ragged than they had been that first time. Their clothing had more signs of obvious wealth, and though they had been traveling, it was cleaner and neater. Bofur had replaced his hat with a new one—one that did not stick out so far from his head and was made of a rich blue material.

Bofur stepped forward and bowed. “Lord Elrond, a pleasure to see you again.” He gestured to the dwarves lingering behind him. “I’m sure you remember Balin. This is my brother Bombur, this is Dori, Dwalin, and my cousin Bifur.”

Elrond tipped his head politely. “We are glad to welcome you to Rivendell again.”

Bofur grinned crookedly. “We certainly aren’t as desperate as we were last time, but it’s nice to be here after a long few weeks of travel.”

Elrond showed them where they could drop their bags and then welcomed them to lunch. Unlike last time, the small group all joined him at his table, and he was treated to stories about the end of their adventure. He could feel the sorrow lingering on this group from the losses they had sustained that day, but there was also joy and recovery. Though they had lost much, they had their homeland back.

“It will be great to see Bilbo again,” Bofur said with a smile. “And I’ve always wanted to spend some real time in the Shire.”

“I have heard it’s lovely, especially this time of year,” Elrond replied. “Gandalf always speaks very highly of the Shire.”

“I’m sure he would,” Balin said. “He was the one who recommended Bilbo Baggins to us in the first place.”

They chatted for a little longer about the Shire and hobbits, and then Elrond personally saw to it that they had everything they needed in their rooms.

“You are welcome to stay as long as you wish,” he told them. “If you need anything, anyone here will assist you.”

They thanked him profusely, and he went back to his desk to finish what he had been working on before they arrived.

It wasn’t until much later that Bofur found him where he was lingering to stare out at the courtyard, and Elrond felt a strong rush of nostalgia for that night nearly three years ago now.

Bofur had taken his hat off, leaving his two braids to shine in the late afternoon sun.

“I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” Bofur said in greeting.

Elrond shook his head. “A break is definitely in order.”

Before Elrond could lead them to a place to sit, Bofur hopped up onto the railing and settled with his back against the pillar, facing Elrond. He grinned when Elrond raised his eyebrows. 

“It really is good to see you, you know,” Bofur said.

“Likewise,” Elrond replied with a smile of his own.

“You know, my friends didn’t believe me when I told them how often we exchanged letters. They seemed to think you had better things to be doing than writing the likes of me.”

“Do your friends value you so little?” Elrond asked.

Bofur shook his head. “No, no, they just can’t seem to understand why the Lord of Rivendell would bother holding so much conversation with a simple miner and toymaker. They mean me no disrespect.”

“Perhaps I have been in need of good conversation,” Elrond replied. “And maybe even a friend.”

Bofur placed a hand over his heart in mock relief. “And I thought you were interested in me for my dwarven secrets.”

“There’s also that.”

Bofur laughed. “Well, regardless, it’s been nice to have someone to talk to. Getting Erebor back in order was difficult, especially after… well.”

Elrond leaned forward and squeezed Bofur’s arm, and though he had intended it to be a comforting, friendly gesture, Bofur tipped his head up to look at him. The motion put them in each other’s space with Bofur perched on the railing as he was.

Elrond froze, and Bofur’s eyes widened.

Elrond couldn’t be sure who closed the distance, but without conscious thought, Elrond found his mouth pressed against soft whiskers and a warm mouth.

The kiss was short and chaste, and when Elrond pulled back, they shared a look of shell-shocked surprise.

“That was—” Bofur began, eyes round.

“I did not mean to—”

They both trailed off and stared at one another. Belatedly, Elrond dropped his hand from Bofur’s arm.

“Um.” Bofur scratched the back of his head and looked away from Elrond. “We can either pretend that that _didn’t_ happen, or…”

“Is that what you would prefer?” Elrond asked carefully.

Bofur met his gaze again, and a small, nervous smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Honestly? No. I had no idea I felt this way, not consciously, but.” He shrugged. “I like you.” He grimaced. “Am I breaking some kind of rule by saying that? Is this whole thing offensive, somehow?”

A warmth was growing in Elrond’s chest, one that threatened to bubble over and show on his face. Elrond squeezed Bofur’s arm again. “It’s not offensive, no. Especially not considering I feel the same way.”

Bofur’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Wow. Really?”

“Seems we have both been taken by surprise.”

“Imagine that,” Bofur breathed, looking up at Elrond with wonder.

“Imagine that,” Elrond echoed, and this time when he leaned down to kiss him, neither of them were surprised. The scratch of Bofur’s mustache on Elrond’s face was a foreign feeling, but not unpleasant, and when Elrond pulled back again, they were both smiling.

“Now my friends _certainly_ won’t believe me,” Bofur muttered.

Elrond reached up and gently tugged on the end of one of Bofur’s braids. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something to tell them.”

Bofur grinned at him, crooked and sweet. “I’m sure I will.”

Three days later, the small group of dwarves left for the Shire. Bofur had promised Elrond they’d be back after their visit, and there was no telling what would happen after that. Elrond saw them off with a quiet smile on his face and a small spark of hope in his chest, a hope for more of whatever this was.


End file.
